By Thursday, the house had returned to a tense kind of functional.
The deal was still broken, technically. The doors were open when they studied, but the air between them stayed careful. Like both of them were walking around a crack in the floor and pretending it wasn't there.
Wei helped Jiang Yue with math, efficient and cold. Jiang Yue listened, grumbling and sarcastic, but he did listen. They didn't talk about the argument. They didn't talk about the fever night. They especially didn't talk about the hallway kiss, which sat behind their eyes like a forbidden memory.
At home, silence was survival.
At school, silence was impossible.
Because school wasn't built for silence. It was built for observation.
By now, everyone had adjusted to the idea of Jiang Yue and Wei Nianzhan being connected. The gossip had evolved. It wasn't "is it true" anymore.
It was "what's the update."
And people were hungry.
The first public slip happened during the last class of the day, when Teacher Gao decided the class wasn't anxious enough yet.
She announced a short, timed quiz, the kind where the whole room held its breath and even the smartest students forgot how to spell their own names.
"No talking," Teacher Gao said, eyes sharp. "Anyone caught cheating will be reported."
Papers were passed out.
Jiang Yue stared at his sheet and immediately felt offended.
The questions weren't impossible. They were just… petty. Trick wording. Calculation traps. A quiz designed to punish anyone who was even slightly tired.
Jiang Yue was more than slightly tired.
He worked through the first few questions slowly, careful, trying very hard not to give Teacher Gao the satisfaction of watching him fail.
Halfway through, his pen stalled.
A blank spot in his mind. The kind that made his chest tighten, because blank spots were dangerous. Blank spots meant your ranking dropped. Blank spots meant adults looked at you like a lost cause.
Jiang Yue stared at the problem, jaw clenched.
The formula was there. Somewhere. He could almost feel it.
He just couldn't grab it.
He glanced up without meaning to.
Wei Nianzhan was seated in front of him, writing steadily, posture perfect. His hand moved like he was printing answers directly from his brain.
Jiang Yue felt a flare of irritation.
Then, under that irritation, something else: panic, small and humiliating.
He didn't want to fail.
Not because he cared about Teacher Gao.
Because he'd promised himself he wouldn't stay forty-eight forever.
Because he'd promised Wei, in a deal and in a thousand unspoken moments, that he would try.
Jiang Yue swallowed hard.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing at Wei's paper.
Not to cheat.
Just to see what step Wei was doing.
But Teacher Gao's shadow moved.
Her sharp heel-clicks stopped beside Jiang Yue's desk.
Jiang Yue's spine froze.
Teacher Gao's voice was low and deadly. "Jiang Yue."
Jiang Yue straightened instantly, pen still.
Teacher Gao's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to cheat."
The room went quiet in that immediate, hungry way it always did when something went wrong.
Students' heads lifted slightly. Eyes flicked toward Jiang Yue.
Jiang Yue's chest tightened.
He opened his mouth to laugh it off, to joke, to deflect. That was his instinct.
But if he joked now, Teacher Gao would use it as proof.
So he forced his voice steady. "No."
Teacher Gao stared at him. "Then why are you leaning forward."
Jiang Yue's jaw clenched. "Because my back hurts."
A few students snickered.
Teacher Gao didn't.
She stepped closer, eyes sharp. "If you can't do it, that's your problem. Don't drag someone else down with you."
The words hit Jiang Yue like a slap.
Drag someone else down.
Always the same sentence. Always the same role.
Jiang Yue's face warmed with anger.
Before he could speak, Wei's chair moved.
Wei stood up.
The scrape of his chair against the floor was loud in the silent room.
Teacher Gao turned sharply. "Wei Nianzhan. Sit."
Wei didn't sit.
He looked at Teacher Gao, calm, but there was a hardness under the calm now, a line drawn.
"He wasn't cheating," Wei said.
Jiang Yue froze.
The class froze with him.
Teacher Gao's eyes narrowed. "And how would you know."
Wei's gaze stayed steady. "Because he didn't look at my answers."
Teacher Gao stared at Wei like she couldn't decide whether to be impressed or furious. "Wei Nianzhan," she said coldly, "you are not in charge of this classroom."
Wei's jaw flexed.
Then, in a moment so small most people wouldn't have noticed, Wei almost slipped fully.
His voice sharpened just a fraction. "You're humiliating him."
The room went dead silent.
Even breathing seemed too loud.
Jiang Yue's heart hammered.
Teacher Gao's mouth tightened. "Excuse me?"
Wei's expression was controlled, but his eyes were dark now. "He's trying," Wei said. "You don't have to treat him like a criminal."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened painfully.
Trying.
Wei said it out loud.
In front of everyone.
Teacher Gao's eyes flashed with anger. "Sit down," she snapped. "Now."
Wei held her gaze for one more beat, then sat slowly, as if he were forcing himself back into obedience.
Teacher Gao's eyes flicked to Jiang Yue again, colder now. "Finish your quiz," she said. "And if I see you lean forward again, you'll do detention for a week."
She walked away.
The air in the classroom slowly returned, like someone had turned the volume back on.
Pens scratched. Students blinked and lowered their heads, but the curiosity remained. It pulsed under the quiet like electricity.
Jiang Yue stared at his quiz paper.
The numbers blurred.
Not because of math.
Because his chest felt too full.
Wei had defended him.
Not casually. Not as a convenient lie at the gate.
Publicly.
Directly.
And worse—Wei had said the word humiliating.
As if he cared.
As if he was angry.
As if he'd exposed a piece of himself in front of Teacher Gao, which was basically sacrilege.
Jiang Yue's throat tightened. He forced himself to breathe, to focus, to finish the quiz. He wrote something down, half guessing.
When the bell rang, the class erupted out of restraint like a shaken bottle.
Students whispered as they packed.
Someone behind Jiang Yue murmured, "Did Wei Nianzhan just… argue with Teacher Gao?"
Another whispered, "For Jiang Yue?"
The rumor engine started instantly.
Jiang Yue shoved his papers into his bag and stood quickly, wanting to run.
He made it into the hallway before someone grabbed his sleeve.
Tang Ruo.
Of course.
She smiled like she was enjoying a show. "Wow," she said. "Wei Nianzhan really is on your side."
Jiang Yue yanked his sleeve free. "He's not."
Tang Ruo's eyes glittered. "He just risked Teacher Gao's wrath for you."
Jiang Yue's jaw clenched. "He's polite. That's all."
Tang Ruo laughed softly. "Keep telling yourself that."
She leaned closer, voice low. "How long until he slips again."
Jiang Yue's stomach tightened. "Get lost."
Tang Ruo smiled sweetly and walked away like she'd delivered a gift.
Jiang Yue stood in the hallway, breathing hard.
Wei walked past him without stopping, heading toward the stairs.
Jiang Yue followed, because he couldn't not.
In the stairwell, where footsteps echoed and there were no watching eyes, Jiang Yue finally spoke.
"Why did you do that," Jiang Yue demanded, voice low.
Wei didn't look back. "Because she was wrong."
Jiang Yue hurried down a step to be beside him. "You don't argue with Teacher Gao. You never argue."
Wei's jaw tightened. "I told you. I'm tired."
Jiang Yue's throat tightened. "You embarrassed yourself."
Wei stopped on the landing and turned to look at him.
His eyes were dark, controlled, but there was heat under it now, restrained and dangerous.
"I don't care," Wei said.
Jiang Yue stared at him.
Because Wei looked like he did care—just not about the things he was supposed to.
Jiang Yue swallowed hard. "Everyone will talk."
Wei's gaze didn't move. "Let them."
Jiang Yue's chest tightened. "Why."
Wei's jaw flexed. He almost slipped again—his voice lowered, quieter, too honest.
"Because watching you take it," Wei said, "makes me want to do something stupid."
Silence hit like a wave.
Jiang Yue stared at him, breath caught.
Wei's eyes widened slightly, like he realized he'd crossed a line.
His expression hardened instantly. "Go home," he said, voice cold.
Jiang Yue didn't move.
Wei stepped back, creating distance like it was oxygen. "Now," he repeated.
Jiang Yue's pulse hammered.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to push. He wanted to ask what stupid meant.
Instead, he nodded stiffly and turned away, because if he stayed, he would do something reckless just to prove he could.
As he walked out of the stairwell, Jiang Yue realized the first public slip wasn't Wei defending him.
It was Wei admitting—almost—that the deal wasn't holding.
Not for Jiang Yue.
For Wei.